


All My Journeys Are With You

by sempre_balla



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Radiant Dawn, somehow I made a fic post Ike's death and it actually isn't sad, there is an abudance of ike flashbacks though so he's here a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-08-03 04:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16319219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sempre_balla/pseuds/sempre_balla
Summary: There would always be a gaping hole in the place where Ike used to be, but even if Soren would never be whole again, he didn't mind. He had never been whole in the first place, always existing for Ike and Ike alone, so he knew he could live carrying his beloved’s wishes and fulfilling the promises he had made.Legends of the Hero of Blue Flames were inconsequential. Ike would never die, not as long as Soren lived. And Soren? He had more time to live than the legends themselves did.





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about Soren's life after Ike a lot ever since I finished the Tellius games, and I finally wrote it. Bear in mind that I've taken a few liberties with Soren's character, because this is set about 150 years after the end of Radiant Dawn—which means Soren has had an entire lifetime with Ike to grow as a person, and many years later to mourn and learn and get back on his feet. He was very young in the games, and during the 3 years between PoR and RD he already becomes a far more open person, which is why he's not as withdrawn (in the parts that aren't flashbacks). This is a fic about Soren's growth anyway, so I'm just borrowing from his canon personality and adding some headcanon development myself. 
> 
> Also, this is partly born from my obsession with Soren and Micaiah developing a friendship. You can't tell me they wouldn't be besties if they had met under other circumstances. Other relationships are explored in future chapters, though, so if you're curious... well, look at the character tags.

_Ike was a person that, when deep in thought, looked at the sky. If someone who didn’t know him very well found him in moments like those, they’d probably interpret his gaze as one of longing—but no, Ike was as down-to-earth as anyone could be, and he only looked far ahead. Longing wasn’t an emotion that Ike felt often, and when he did it was on his most private moments: when practicing the moves his father taught him, when having to scrape by due to limited funds, when reaching out and briefly grazing his knuckles against Soren’s hand in the lightest of touches._

_Soren was the one that was always longing, even after leaving everything behind to be with the only person he ever trusted. It was a feeling he could never get rid of no matter how hard he tried, an inherent part of him. Despite his natural cynicism and pessimism and the apathy he often tried to express, he was more emotional than he let on. Despite everything he had given up on, he still longed for many things; things like a family, a clean lineage, both reclusion and company. He even longed for Ike when Ike had chosen him as his companion, shown him an overwhelming amount of kindness and affection, and had always reciprocated his feelings._

_He supposed he would always long for Ike, and not because he considered him an unreachable hero, no—but because Ike was everything, and if one could obtain everything there is, then what meaning would continuing to exist have?_

_If Soren discovered how having Ike and not longing for him any longer felt, how would he continue living after time took his everything away from him?_

_“You look somber,” Ike commented, startling Soren out of his thoughts. He wasn’t staring at the sky any longer, his gaze was fixed on Soren. “Overthinking again?”_

_Soren smiled and approached his partner, quietly sitting down next to him. The grass was humid and uncomfortable under his robes, but he’d been caring less and less about these things lately._

_“I suppose so,” he answered, glancing sideways at Ike, who had risen his eyes to the sky again. “What about you? There's something on your mind, right?”_

_Ike sighed heavily, hanging his head back and closing his eyes._

_“I know being clever is your thing, but it’s pretty crazy how you can always tell everything.”_

_“That is only true when it comes to you, Ike,” Soren replied, hugging his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. “Because I’m always looking your way.”_

_“You’re a liar and a sap,” Ike accused, jabbing a finger at his cheek. “Part of what makes you so brilliant is how observant you are. And I mean towards everyone.”_

_Soren swatted him away, embarrassed both by his own words and Ike’s compliment. He wondered exactly when it was that he had stopped being so careful with every word that slipped his mouth. Embarrassing statements like the one he just made were becoming more and more frequent, and it was concerning how he always blurted them out without a second thought. He wondered if there’d ever be a time where he wouldn’t mind that his defenses had cracked down._

_“So?” He asked after a few moments of silence. “What were you thinking about?”_

_“We haven’t seen any laguz since Hatari,” Ike answered. “I was just wondering if we’ll just not encounter them anymore.”_

_“Well, I personally wouldn’t mind much,” Soren said, frowning. He’d become more tolerant towards individual laguz, but meeting new ones still put him on edge. Being treated like a parentless again was something he didn’t want to go through anymore. “But you do love the laguz.”_

_“I don’t, not really," Ike said, shrugging one shoulder. “I think it’s unfair how the laguz are treated, but I only love those I befriended. The thing is,” he interjected with a quieter voice, “if there aren’t any laguz, that means there aren’t any people like you either.”_

_Soren tilted his head to get a better look at Ike. His expression was unreadable, and Soren frowned._

_“Good,” he said carefully._

_Ike’s signature scowl deepened, and Soren sighed through his nose, relieved. Things were easier when he could read Ike’s expressions._

_“Good?” Ike asked, clearly perplexed. “I know you don’t like your own heritage, but wouldn’t you want to meet other people like you?”_

_“Not really, no,” Soren replied easily, unwrapping his arms from his legs and crossing them over his chest. “Why would I?”_

_“To understand more about yourself. To feel less alone.”_

_Soren smiled at that. He reached over and set a hand on Ike’s arm._

_“You’re all I need, Ike.”_

_Ike’s frown only deepened at that, but Soren had expected that. Ike was kind, after all. That unwavering kindness made him reject Soren’s devotion at times, because he wanted the mage to live for himself too. Those rejections still hurt, would probably always hurt, but Ike was kind, and Soren loved Ike’s kindness. He could accept that they both had different ways to love, because Ike was kind, and Soren was not._

_“I just…” Ike started, running a hand through his hair. He was clearly frustrated. “I don’t want you to care about only me, but I know you’re wary of both beorc and laguz, and I don’t think we’ll ever go back to Tellius.”_

_“Ike, it’s fine,” Soren said, squeezing Ike’s arm reassuringly. “I’ve met several other branded already. I didn’t care about them, so it’s fine.”_

_“Wait, really? Who? When?”_

_Soren chuckled, amused. Leave it to Ike to care so little about the blood running through people’s veins that he missed the clues that were right in front of his nose._

_“The Maiden of Dawn?” He said, inching closer to Ike. “You know, legitimate apostle of Begnion? Descendant of Lehran and Altina?”_

_“...oh.”_

_“Really, Ike? She used the herons’ powers right in front of your eyes, did she not?”_

_“Listen, everyone had turned to stone and a chaos goddess had just been awakened, alright?” Ike retorted, his cheeks coloring a little. “Why she had that power was the last on my mind at that moment.”_

_“I know, I know,” Soren said, reaching up to pat Ike’s head. He snickered when Ike shrank away from his touch, visibly annoyed by the condescending gesture. “If it makes you feel better, Stefan is one too.”_

_“Oh, seriously?”_

_“Yes, the settlement he runs in the Grann Desert is a village of branded.”_

_“Anyone else I should know of?”_

_Soren looked down and shook his head. There was no need to talk about the dead, even less when they died as enemies. Knowing about Zelgius would do nothing for Ike._

_“This is why I don’t care if we don’t meet any branded,” he murmured instead. “They were pests, the both of them. Talking as if they knew me just because we all share the same cursed blood. I hope I don’t have to deal with them ever again.”_

_There was a rather long pause where neither of them spoke. The silence was uncomfortable, and Soren started anxiously fiddling with the ends of his hair. After a while, Ike grabbed Soren’s hand, guiding it away before reaching out to tuck the strand Soren had been twisting behind his ear._

_“Do you mean that?” He asked in the softest voice he could manage._

_Soren swallowed the lump in his throat and hugged his knees to his chest again, making himself as small as possible._

_“I do,” he whispered, and left it at that._

_After all, Soren was a person that could never stop longing. Longing for companionship and a sense of camaraderie was something he’d felt and pushed away ever since he first read that book in Mainal Cathedral. Because he was always longing, he wouldn’t know what to do if his desires ever came true, and that was why he didn’t want to see Stefan and Micaiah again._

_Even if other hands were extended to him, the only one he’d allow himself to take was Ike’s._

 

* * *

 

Soren drew his hood a little lower and fastened his cloak a little tighter. He felt hot and sluggish as he dragged his feet through the ground. His clothes were covered in dirt, and he was pretty sure there was sand inside his boots. No matter how many years passed, he could never fathom a single reason why anyone would decide to live in the middle of the desert.

All the stone houses scattered around the settlement seemed the same to him, nothing but modest and sturdy constructions that cared not for aesthetic. He appreciated the simplicity, but not when he had to find a specific one that he should be able to discern from the others—which he obviously couldn’t do, since they were all the _exact same_. He had asked a merchant for information and they had told him that the chief lived in a house on the southern end of the settlement, but being able to tell the cardinal directions was a bit hard without a map and with the scorching sun blinding him every time he did as much as look up. Plus, having the houses scattered about like they were was disorienting to say the least. He had walked his way through the entire town by now, and he was exhausted.

“If you’re going to build a settlement at least try to be organized about it,” he grumbled under his breath, kicking a pebble.

“Are you lost, traveler?” A voice called from behind him.

Soren snapped his head around and took a step backwards, shocked. He could usually notice people before they could sneak up on him like that, so whoever had talked to him couldn’t be someone ordinary.

He narrowed his eyes as soon as he caught a glimpse of bright green hair. When recognition dawned upon him, he slowly straightened his spine. If the appearance wasn’t already a clear indicator, the laid back posture and confident body language of the man standing before him was more than enough.

“There you are,” he breathed, relieved. Of course this person would be able to sneak up on him. “If you truly want people to come to your settlement, you should be more hospitable, Stefan.”

“Oh?” Stefan raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “And who might you be?”

Soren lowered his hood and pulled his hair out of his cloak. Stefan’s attitude changed immediately, a grin spreading over his features.

“Don’t say you knew I’d come,” Soren warned.

“But I knew you would,” Stefan replied. “Though you've taken longer than I expected.”

“How long did you expect?”

“A beorc’s lifetime.” He shrugged. “It’s what it took Micaiah.”

Soren sighed. Of course the Maiden of Dawn was here. She wasn’t someone he wanted to confront, but he had expected it. They really were alike, after all, and it wasn’t hard to predict that she would back away from Daein and seek a quiet life after Sothe’s death.

Not that Soren was seeking a quiet, stationary life. He'd been travelling for so many decades that he just didn't know how to sit still anymore. And he had a goal now. Somewhere to be.

“Will you be staying for long?” Stefan asked when it was clear that Soren wouldn't be offering any clarification.

“No, only a few days. A week at most.”

“I see.” Stefan said, grinning widely. “Then you should go see Micaiah.”

Soren quirked an eyebrow, feeling quite alarmed by that statement.

“I would hope your village has enough living space for me to not have to room with _her_ ,” he said.

Stefan barked a laugh, which only made Soren’s brow furrow.

“Why do you hate her so?” the swordsmaster asked.

“I don't hate her.” Soren paused. “I suppose I can sleep out in the open. I do not mind.”

“Well, I do mind.” Stefan clapped him on the back with so much force that Soren stumbled a little. An entire lifetime with Ike, and he still wasn't able to stay steady when being manhandled like that. “I have a spare room in my house. I just think you should visit her, is all.”

“Why is that?”

Stefan shrugged.

“You've spent over a century avoiding her. That's more than enough, don't you think?”

Soren didn't really think it was enough for him, but there was no point in delaying this any further. He really didn't hate Micaiah. In a way, he admired her wit and strength of will. But she was also all too similar to him, and that made him uncomfortable.

And yet, whether he was comfortable or not, whether he was ready or not, didn't matter. He had promised Ike he would cherish himself more. He had  _learned_ to be kinder to himself, even if he still had vast room for improvement. But he had learned nonetheless, and resenting the Maiden for sharing traits he had once resented about himself did nothing to honor Ike’s memory—did nothing to make Ike proud.

Soren wanted to make Ike proud. He always had while he lived, and that desire never subsided in death. Ike had wanted him to live for himself, but Ike was a part of Soren, and that would never change. Ike would have wanted him to see to Micaiah. Ike would have wanted him to interact with people who understood him.

So he nodded slowly, and Stefan patted him on the back one more time. Soren stumbled again and glared at a smiling Stefan.

“Walk back to the square and take a right. She's the third house from there. You can come back here whenever you want, we’ll catch up over a meal.”

“Thank you,” Soren said, pulling his hood over his head again and starting to walk through the path he had come from.

“Oh, and Soren?” Stefan spoke up, making the mage stop dead in his tracks. Soren turned back and saw the other man sporting a serious expression. Serious and far more genuine than any other expression Stefan had made in his presence. “I’m glad you came to my home. I had always wanted you to see it, ever since the Mad King’s war.”

The smile that came over Soren’s lips was more fond than his non-Ike smiles usually were. Stefan had told him he would always have a home in his village. He hadn't believed him back then, but he did now.

“It’s got even more sand and dirt than I originally expected,” he joked. “It's an extraordinary sight, really.”

“Why, thank you, master tactician,” Stefan said, making an exaggerated bow. “I decorated it so it would your tastes specifically.”

Soren scoffed, but when Stefan waved goodbye, Soren waved back. Well, he only raised his hand slightly, but it was more than he’d ever given the other man.

Retracing his steps was a bit annoying since he was still tired and sweaty, but at least he knew where he was going this time. In a matter of a few minutes, he reached the town square. It was easy to spot Micaiah’s house in the adjacent street. She had an array of potted desert plants resting on her entrance and windowsill, and by peering through the window Soren saw an interior decorated in greens and browns. The mage frowned and looked down at his right wrist. A worn down green headband was wrapped tightly around it, layered on top of his undershirt.

Soren didn’t have a home that he could paint and decorate in deep blues, and he didn’t have it in him to wear a color so bright—so he’d taken something else as a memento, something that he could look at and feel at home.

No shade of blue could compare to the one of Ike’s eyes anyway.

The mage took a deep breath and knocked on Micaiah’s door. He didn't have to wait long before he heard muted footsteps and the door creaking open.

The Micaiah that stared up at him was shorter than he remembered, but the melancholy hidden behind those golden eyes of her remained the same. Her features were slightly more mature and her hair long enough to reach her hips, but, essentially, she was the same as the one in his memories.

The delighted smile that overtook her when she saw Soren, however, was new and unexpected.

“I've been expecting you,” she said quietly, joining her hands together.

“You should use your foretelling for more useful things, Maiden,” Soren replied, which, for some reason, made Micaiah chuckle.

“You still talk coldly, but you’ve become so much warmer.”

Soren frowned. The the way in which herons could just look inside and figure him out had always made him incredibly uncomfortable, and time hadn’t changed that. He decided not to voice his discomfort, though.

“We’re in the middle of the desert,” he replied dryly. “I'd be concerned if I wasn't.”

“Come on in,” Micaiah said, stepping back to give him room to enter the house. “I can offer you some water and shade, if you'd like.”

Soren nodded. “That'd be appreciated.”

The house was small, and just about what he expected. It was spacious for its size, and several books, vials and plants were scattered about in an organized clutter. Micaiah led him to the kitchen, which had a counter, a desk with two chairs, and not much more. She gestured towards one of the chairs, and he took a silently took a seat. He would normally be more tense, but after such a long day of lots of walking and no rest at all, he allowed himself to lean back on the chair, close his eyes, and breathe deeply. He couldn’t truly be comfortable, not when he was so sweaty and sore and sitting in Micaiah’s house; but it was nice to be sitting down in the shade and be able to close his eyes without the glaring sun hitting his eyelids and painting his vision bright red.

Soren only realized how dizzy he was when he opened his eyes at the sound of water running and his vision started spinning. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids and groaned. He distantly heard Micaiah setting something down on the table, but he kept his eyes covered.

“Are you alright?” She asked, and Soren groaned again. He felt her hand cupping over his own, which he would normally complain about, were her skin not so cold and pleasant to his burning one.

He felt a spark of magic forming around her fingertips and seeping through his skin. It felt familiar and nostalgic, a similar sensation to the herons’ Galdr, or a Recover staff bringing his body back to its usual state. It was gradual, but when she pulled away Soren felt dirty and sweaty, but rested and healthy. He lowered his hands to look at the girl, who was sweating and lowering herself onto the other chair.

“The silver-haired maiden, who can use magic without a tome and heal without a staff,” Soren murmured, frowning. “I never doubted it after I met you, but it’s the first time I see it with my own eyes.”

“I can’t use magic without a tome,” she said, smiling wryly. “That was just a rumor. I pulled no miracles.”

“But you can heal without a staff,” Soren replied. “By taking their injury into your body, no less. Quite dangerous if you ask me, Maiden.”

“Aw, are you worried about me?” She asked, looking genuinely touched.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I only think it was unnecessary of you to do that. Dizziness is no grave affliction.”

“But heatstroke is,” Micaiah said, smiling softly. “Your skin was burning, and you were dehydrated and exhausted. I’m rested and hydrated, so this is lighter on me.”

“Get a staff, then,” he insisted. “Your house is the house of a healer. If you have herbs and medicine, you must have staves.”

“Maybe I wanted to show you,” she replied quietly, her smile dropping. “Maybe I wanted you to see what I could do, as a branded.”

Soren opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again when he realized that he had no idea what to say. He pursed his lips and looked down at the untouched cup of water. He was still thirsty, but he didn't reach for it.

“If you're looking for someone to share a sense of camaraderie with,” he started slowly, looking up at her with a scowl, “then you have a whole village for it. I didn't… I did not come here to give you that.”

“All I want is your friendship, Soren,” she whispered. Her expression was strained, laced with emotion. It reminded him of the first time they met. “You’ll probably hate me for saying this, but you and I… we share a connection. You are the only person like me here, and since I want to understand you so badly, I thought… I thought that maybe you'd want to be understood too.”

“Are you sure that's what you want to say?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don't you mean to say that because you are so lonely, you thought I'd be lonely too?” He asked. When she looked down at her lap without replying, he sighed deeply. “I don't hate you for saying that we are similar, Maiden, the only reason why I denied it in the first place was because I knew it was true.” He ran a hand through the bangs that were sticking to his cheek, tucking them behind his ear. “But bear in mind that you didn't only live for Sothe. You lived for Daein too.”

 _Unlike me,_ he didn't say. _Unlike me, who lost my entire world when Ike died._

“I don't belong there anymore,” Micaiah murmured, still looking down. “A few generations may have gone by, but I am still recognizable as a recent queen. The day I abdicated the throne was the day I stopped living for my country.” She clasped her hands together and squeezed them. Soren could see her knuckles turning white. “And I can't leave this place. Sothe is buried here. I can't leave.”

After hearing that, Soren realized how glad he was that Ike and him had travelled until the very end. When Ike had died, they didn't have a place to call a home, so Soren had buried him in the middle of somewhere and left without even creating a makeshift grave. It had taken him a few decades to decide to go back to Tellius and fulfill the promises he had made to his companion, but he had only been able to take action because he had been moving around. He hadn't had a place to glue his feet to and mourn, and so, he hadn't mourned alone. He had mourned while he kept doing mercenary work in order to survive, he had mourned while he helped in the reconstruction of a destroyed city, he had mourned while getting roped into another war. He hadn't gotten close to anybody and he had kept to himself, but he had still mourned surrounded by people—he had mourned while _helping_ people, and he hadn't even intended to do it. It had been many years before he had realized that he was living life like Ike had, and it felt like he was carrying his will, like he wasn't letting Ike’s kindness end with his death.

There would always be a gaping hole in the place where Ike used to be, but even if Soren would never be whole again, he didn't mind. He had never been whole in the first place, always existing for Ike and Ike alone, so he knew he could live carrying his beloved’s wishes and fulfilling the promises he had made.

Legends of the Hero of Blue Flames were inconsequential. Ike would never die, not as long as Soren lived. And Soren? He had more time to live than the legends themselves did.

So he reached for the cup of water and took a sip. The girl sitting across the table was the first step.

“I have travelled for so long that I doubt I’ll be able to settle anywhere ever again,” he began. He paused to chug the rest of the water down. Micaiah looked at him with wide eyes when he slammed the empty cup on the table. “And I'll be leaving in a week's time at most. _And_ Ike is the only person I have ever befriended, so I’m not going to be good at this.”

Micaiah bit her bottom lip, but Soren could see the corners of her mouth lifting.

“Are those excuses?” She asked, a nervous hint in her tone.

“They're fair warnings,” he corrected. “You will need them, if you still desire my friendship.”

Even with her teeth still biting at her bottom lip, Micaiah couldn’t hold back her smile. Her eyes were glistening with tears, and Soren looked away, uncomfortable. He was already out of his element, if she actually burst out crying he would probably just get up and run away from her house—which would probably be a disastrous way to start a friendship.

“I’m a bit worried that Ike is your only experience with friendship,” Micaiah said, her voice shaky. She smiled a full smile, and Soren relaxed a little. “I hope you don’t try to feel the same way about me than you did about him.”

Soren scoffed indignantly, but allowed himself a small grin.

“Rest assured, that will never happen.”

“So,” Micaiah crossed her arms over the table and leaned forward. “You said you’re only staying for a few days. Is there somewhere in particular you’re planning to go to?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Can I ask where?”

Soren pondered if he should tell her, and found no reason to hide his destination. He took a deep breath, and spoke.

“Goldoa.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know where I want this fic to go but updates will be irregular because if I force myself to write them quick they will be dog shit and I don't want them to be dog shit I want to deliver the best quality I can give and I am a very tired, very stressed person. So if you enjoyed this, please bear with me!! I'll be doing my best!!
> 
> Also, Soren, Stefan and Micaiah are PERFECT to be a cameo trio in a future FE game like the Awakening kids in Fates, it would be super plausible and super good but Dumb Bitch Systems HATE good ideas so it'll never happen.


	2. Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm… not bad. I’ve been better since I left Tellius. And I'm better than when Ike left me.” He fisted his hands around the fabric of his tunic and looked up at Ranulf. “I've had… I’ve given myself a lot of time to heal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all, I hope you enjoy how much more romantic I've made this chapter :3c
> 
> on that note, there are a couple of mentions of ranulf's feelings for ike in this chapter that, if taken romantically, are unrequited. I didn't particularly intend to give romantic implications to their relationship here since this is entirely soren-centric but I thought it was fair to let you all know. please enjoy!!

_Ike and Soren were quite unconventional when it came to intimacy. Ike wasn’t particularly touchy-feely, and his displays of physical attention were few and far between. He was prone to hair ruffling and back patting, but that was pretty much it. On the other hand, Soren’s attitude towards intimacy was very volatile, and it varied widely depending on his moods. On days where his mind was clouded with dark thoughts of his past, he would flinch away from any touch, no matter how gentle. On days where the loneliness would strike him until it hurt, he would curl around himself and try to hide how touch-starved he truly felt. He hadn’t been very good at hiding it lately, and this day was one of those where he’d completely failed at it._

_Ike had his arms wrapped around Soren’s middle and his chin propped on the crown of his head. Soren had been reading on the shabby desk of the inn’s room when Ike had silently taken him by the hand, led him to bed, and pulled him into his lap, his back pressed against Ike’s chest. Soren had just sighed and gone back to his tome, accepting his partner’s warmth without a word. The days where he argued and fought against this kind of attention were long past; now he just catered to Ike’s stubborn determination to give him affection when he needed it — and not-so-secretly loved every minute of it. Every point of his skin that made contact with Ike’s felt like air, like something he needed to breathe and keep on living._

_The problem was that Ike wasn’t a touchy-feely guy, and Soren was scared of seeming both too cold and too clingy. He knew his relationship with Ike wasn’t so fragile, but he was terrified nonetheless._

_After rereading the same paragraph for the third time, Soren accepted that he couldn’t concentrate anymore and dog-eared the page before closing the book and setting it on his lap._

_“Oh, you’re done?” Ike asked, moving his head to rest his chin on Soren’s shoulder instead of the top of his head._

_“I suppose so,” Soren replied, leaning his weight on Ike’s chest. If he concentrated, he could feel Ike’s heartbeat through his back. “Say, do you actually enjoy this?”_

_“This?”_

_Soren tapped one of the arms wrapped around his middle and turned his head upwards to look at Ike. “This,” he said. “Being like this with me.”_

_The angle was a bit awkward, but Soren could see Ike’s brows furrowing._

_“Of course I do,” the other said in a tone that suggested it should be obvious. “Why wouldn’t I?”_

_“Because you’re not usually like this. I’ve never seen you actively trying to hug anyone that wasn’t Mist.”_

_“That’s not true,” Ike said. “I’ve hugged Titania and Ranulf.”_

_Soren bit back his words that he hadn’t hugged them, they had hugged him, and he had been there to see him awkwardly try to hug back. It was besides the point, and arguing about the technicalities of hugs would get them nowhere._

_“I just don’t want you to force yourself to do this kind of thing with me,” Soren said, looking down at his lap. “You don’t owe me anything of the sorts.”_

_“What? It’s not— Soren, I don’t do_ any _of this because I think I owe you. I do it because I want to. That’s not so hard to believe, is it?”_

_“But you usually don’t—”_

_“_ Soren _,” Ike hissed in his ear, squeezing his stomach and hunching over to drape over the mage’s smaller frame. “I usually don’t do this kind of thing because I usually don’t fall in love with people. You’re the first one, you know that!” The volume of his voice made Soren flinch away from him, but Ike only tightened his hold even more, making Soren huff lightly. “And listen, it may be the first time I feel like this, but that doesn’t mean I’m not sure of what I feel, or what I want.”_

_Soren waited for him to continue speaking, but when Ike said nothing else, he licked his lips nervously. “What is that you want?” He asked, trying his hardest to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks._

_“I want lots of things,” Ike said. “Right now, I just want to pamper you a little.”_

_“You pamper me plenty,” Soren protested meekly._

_“I say I don’t do it enough,” Ike argued, suddenly dipping his head to blow a puff of air under Soren’s ear, effectively making the mage yelp and tense in his arms._

_“Ike!” He exclaimed when he heard the other snickering behind him. He tried to twist around and face him, but Ike’s grip was solid and only allowed him to squirm in place._

_“You’ve always been the one spoiling me,” Ike continued, his ears deaf to Soren’s protests. “And I’ve been wanting to give back for a while.” He pressed a feather-like kiss to his temple. “Spoil you rotten.”_

_Soren shuddered, unused to it all. The words, the affection, the very concept that someone would want him was foreign and strange to him. He and Ike had been together for very a long time, but they'd taken it slow because they had both needed to, and this, now, was new._

_Soren couldn't help it; he choked on a sob. He shut his eyes tight and pressed his hands to his face, but it was too late. He had already broken down, and it had happened right in Ike’s arms._

_“Are you okay?!” Ike asked, alarmed, his grip going slack. It was curious to Soren, briefly, how the thought of someone holding him that tightly used to frighten him more than anything before, but now he only wanted Ike to hold him close again._

_“You can't do this to me,” he cried._

_“S-soren?” Ike sounded panicked. Soren only curled into himself._

_“I'll get used to it, and then when you're gone? What will I do? Without this? Without y-you?”_

_For better or for worse, Soren’s selfish wish came true. Ike coaxed Soren gently so he would shift on his lap and face him. He didn’t resist, and Ike wrapped his arms around his shoulders to pull him close to his chest. Soren exhaled shakily, pressing his ear to the spot right above his beloved’s heart, hearing it beat rapidly._

_“Will you do something for me, Soren?” Ike whispered against his hair._

_“Anything for you,” Soren said without hesitation. Crying or not, that question never posed a problem. Ike sighed. Soren pretended he didn't hear that reaction, despite having felt it against his cheek._

_“You need to give yourself a break. Let yourself enjoy things even when you know they'll end. If you don't feel ready for something, give yourself the time to be.”_

_Soren snorted mirthlessly. “If anything else, I have more than enough time to spare.”_

_“Then grant it to yourself,” Ike said, kissing the crown of his head. “Can you promise me that? That you'll let yourself have good things, and time?”_

_“I don't know, Ike,” Soren replied with sincerity._

_“Would you be willing to try for me—with me?”_

_“...that I can do.”_

_“Then let’s start small,” Ike said. He leaned back and slowly pushed Soren away so they could look at each other comfortably. Ike’s expression was strange, a mix of worry, pride, embarrassment, and maybe something else. It made Soren relax because he then realized that he wasn’t the only one in the room that was a total mess. “Can I kiss you?”_

_“Yes,” he replied immediately. He’d been secretly waiting for this, too scared of rejection to ever attempt to make the first step._

_“Are you ready for it?” Ike insisted, and that made Soren ponder it for a little longer._

_The question seemed silly at first—after all, anything that Ike would take, Soren would gladly give to him. But he’d just promised to try to take care of himself, and so, he wondered if he was. He imagined the distance between them disappearing, and found himself craving for it instead of fearing it. It was nerve-wracking, and embarrassing, but the prospect was attractive._

_“Please,” he said._

_Maybe begging wasn’t necessary, but Soren had wanted to show enthusiasm when he didn’t have the energy to be enthusiastic. It got the effect he so desired; Ike cupping his cheeks and closing the distance. The kiss was chaste and gentle, sweet in its clumsiness, but way too quick for Soren’s liking. Ike was pulling away before Soren could even register the sensation of lips pressed against his, and when the mage opened his eyes—which he hadn’t realized he had closed—he found Ike covering half of his face with one hand, the skin visible behind his fingers lightly flushed._

_“Were you… were_ you _ready?” Soren asked, incredulous._

_“Maybe… not,” Ike croaked out, and Soren snorted, bursting out into quiet laughter that was laced with the tears which still clung to the corners of his eyes and the edge of his voice._

_“You,” he said, “are ridiculous.”_

_“Well,” Ike huffed, puffing out his cheeks in embarrassment. Soren wanted to pinch them, but he refrained himself from it. “Give me a while until I’m ready for real. We’ve got all the time in the world either way.”_

I do. You don't _, Soren thought, but he said nothing. The moment was sweet and his chest felt warm with affection for the awkward, perfect man he loved more than anyone in the world, so he let it go. For Ike, and maybe a little for himself, he leaned forward to peck Ike on the cheek and let himself enjoy the way in which Ike’s cheeks darkened and his lips curled into a bashful smile._

 

* * *

 

Castle Gallia’s location made sense from a tactical standpoint, and beast laguz had legs that were more than powerful enough to make the climb without getting tired at all. Soren was not a beast laguz, however, and he was currently livid with anger at the inconsiderate soul that decided it was a good idea to locate the castle on top of a mountain.

Granted, the climb was over, and he was currently being led around the halls by a castle guard. The halls were as spacious as he remembered, and they gave him the much-needed shade he had been craving before being able to enter the castle. Still, the pain that shot through his calves with each step and the sweat clinging to his skin were very much present, and very much darkening his mood.

“We’re here,” the guard announced as he stopped in front of a door of imposing size. “I’ll announce your presence to the king now.”

Soren raised a hand to stop the guard from knocking on the door. “That won’t be necessary, thank you. I’ll announce myself.”

The guard regarded him strangely for a few seconds, but he ultimately shrugged and walked away. Soren stared at his retreating form for a few moments, still puzzled at the treatment he was receiving by the Gallians. He brushed it off momentarily, however, to reach up and undo the high ponytail he had gathered his hair in during the climb. As soon as his hair fell free and cascaded down his shoulders he reached for it again, this time to do a low braid that kept it neatly tied on the small of his back. He sighed through his nose. He’d prefer to look a bit better when reuniting with old acquaintances, but all he was able to deal with at the moment was his hair. He knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Came a booming voice from the inside of the room, and Soren did as told.

He barely had the time to open the door and step through before he heard a surprised gasp, a chair rattled loudly, and the mage was practically tackled by a body three times his size. Soren only huffed at first, but he yelped when strong arms wrapped around his middle and lifted him off the ground. He scrambled to find purchase as best as he could, fisting his hands on a fluffy mane of red hair.

“Put me down, Skrimir,” he hissed, yelping again when the lion ignored him and spun him around.

“Little tactician!” Skrimir said, loosening his hug to get a proper look at Soren but still holding him up in the air. “I have missed you!”

“That’s nice, please put me down.”

Skrimir tugged Soren close to examine his face, and Soren pursed his lips and turned his face, the short distance making him uncomfortable. He locked gazes with Ranulf, who was lounging on a big armchair and looking at him with amused eyes. His silent pleas for help seemed to go unnoticed, or rather, ignored.

“You have grown,” Skrimir observed, and Soren rolled his eyes. “That’s strange.”

“If you put me down you’ll get to see how much I’ve truly grown,” Soren suggested, looking back at the king. While Ranulf definitely looked much older, Skrimir hadn’t changed one bit. He looked just as short-witted as he did two hundred years ago.

He didn’t only look it, though, because he fell for Soren’s words and carefully put him down, staring at him intently. “You’re still tiny,” he said, and Soren could only roll his eyes again. No matter how much taller he grew, he’d never be anything but tiny when compared to a lion.

“Don’t be like that, Skrimir, he’s definitely quite taller” Ranulf said, getting up from his seat and walking up to them. He patted Soren on the shoulder and grinned at him. “I’m glad to see you, Soren. You look good.”

“I’ll look better after a bath,” Soren replied, running a hand through the nape of his neck and grimacing when his hand came away sticky and wet. He wiped it on his pants as discreetly as he could.  

“Wanna rest on a guest bedroom before we catch up?” Ranulf suggested. “If you had the time to climb up here, I assume you aren’t in a hurry.”

“I’m not, no,” Soren nodded. “And I’d appreciate that room.”

“What? Stay here, little one!” Skrimir said, grabbing him by the arm. Soren raised an eyebrow at him, unamused. “It has been too long to be worried about silly things like cleanliness!”

“Oh, I see,” He replied, staring at the lion coldly. “So my comfort is something silly to you?”

Soren was thankful for his perfectly honed poker face, because when Skrimir’s smile faltered all he wanted was to give him a smug grin. It was nice to know that no matter how many years passed, he still had Skrimir completely wrapped around his finger.

“That is not what I meant, little tactician! Do not be mad!”

“Are you sure you should be telling me how to feel?” Soren said dryly, and Skrimir grit his teeth in frustration, seemingly giving up on words. Ranulf barked out a laugh, and Soren couldn’t help smiling faintly.

“Calm down, Your Highness, he’s just messing with you,” the cat said before patting Soren’s shoulder again and gesturing towards the door. “Come on, I’ll walk you to a guest room.”

Soren didn’t have to toy with Skrimir any longer, but he held his chin high as he brushed past him, and murmured, “I’ll be making myself at home, King Gallia.”

Skrimir made a strange noise of distress that had Soren grinning as he left the room.

 

* * *

 

“Skrimir had to go to a meeting,” Ranulf explained as he placed a tray with two cups of tea on the small table.

“Will he be okay without you babysitting him?” Soren asked, stopping the slow massage he was giving to his own calves to reach for one of the cups and sipping the warm liquid.

“Yeah, Giffca took over for me,” Ranulf said, sitting down across from the mage. “You’d be surprised at how little he needs it these days, though. He’s a better king that we all expected him to be.”

“It’s not that surprising. He was a lousy general at best, but he’s always been fit for a ruler. One who gains the love of his people as easily as Skrimir can compensate for flaws like his own.”

“Whoa,” Ranulf said, eyes widening. “I’ve never heard you say so many nice things about someone at once.”

“You've heard me talk about Ike before.”

“Alright, I've never heard you say so many nice things about someone other than Ike at once.”

“Fair enough.”

Ranulf chuckled. He crossed his legs on his seat and made himself comfortable, and Soren watched as his expression slowly shifted into something soft and wistful.

“How was his life?” Ranulf asked quietly. “His last moments?”

Soren exhaled through his nose, and he set his tea back on the tray before leaning back on his seat. He cast his eyes downward to avoid seeing Ranulf’s expression, and he spoke.

“Good, I want to think,” he said. “We never truly settled down, not even when he was too old to travel.” He felt a fond smile overcoming his features. “He was never too old, I think. The journey, it… it filled him with life. I didn't realize how much the weight of his own name was killing him until he was free from it and finally lived again.”

“I see… That’s good. What about you?”

Soren stared up at the laguz, puzzled. He studied his expression and found that Ranulf looked genuine in his interest, but that somehow sat wrong with him. He felt his brows creasing and his stare growing suspicious.

“Why do you care?” He asked slowly. He hadn't mean for his words to sound so harsh, but he didn't go back on them either.

Ranulf had loved Ike. In which way, Soren didn't know—didn't want to know—, but he had loved him more than others did, because he had known him more than others did. Soren had been jealous once, jealous of how Ranulf was able to stand proud next to Ike without feeling inadequate; jealous of how easily Ike had learned to rely on the cat; jealous of how good Ike looked when he stood next to someone that didn't bear blood that was cursed twice over. He wasn't jealous anymore because Ike had given all his love and all his life to Soren and Soren alone; because Ike had told him how crucial he was to him over and over again; because even after his death Ike had pushed him to accept those with the same blood as him, and that blood didn't make him feel so filthy any longer. But the fact that Ranulf had loved Ike remained.

Soren’s eyes darted to the outer layer of his robes, which he had discarded and draped over the bed. His belt was there, and attached to it there was a little pouch of potent medicinal herbs Micaiah had given him. He remembered her warm smile as she had handed him the pouch and wished him save travels, and how _right_ it had felt. She had had a reason to care for him. Ranulf, who had had Ike taken away from him by Soren, didn't.

And yet he had asked how he was faring, and then he said, “I may have never been as close with you as I was with Ike, but I still consider you a friend. I've thought about you a lot these years. I want to know how you're doing.”

Soren pursed his lips and looked down at his lap. He realized he couldn’t argue with that, and it made him uncomfortable, especially because he had never realized Ranulf held him in such high regards. He had assumed the opposite all along, and for so long that this shift in opinion felt like whiplash to him. When he answered, he did it with a knot in his throat.

“I'm… not bad. I’ve been better since I left Tellius. And I'm better than when Ike left me.” He fisted his hands around the fabric of his tunic and looked up at Ranulf. “I've had… I’ve given myself a lot of time to heal.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Ranulf said and, once again, he sounded so incredibly genuine Soren could do nothing else but believe him. “You know… it’s good that Skrimir isn’t here right now. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Soren nodded, immensely relieved at the change of topic. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, too.”

“Sure, you go first.”

“Why aren’t I being treated like a parentless?”

Ranulf seemed immediately taken aback, and Soren didn’t blame him. He just waited patiently for the cat to recover from the shock.

“Soren…” Ranulf said, and Soren took that as his cue to elaborate.

“When I crossed the border, I was treated in the same way I have all the other times I’ve been in Gallia,” he started, hoping he wouldn’t have to specify exactly what kind of treatment that was, “but once I reached the castle, the guards talked to me openly, as if I were just another of their own. Or, I suppose, a simple beorc. Why?”

“It’s because of Amy.”

“Aimee?” He asked, flabbergasted and a little more than taken aback. “The travelling merchant?”

“Oh, gods, no,” Ranulf chuckled. “Amy, Calill and Largo’s daughter. She’s… well, we’ve stopped calling people like you by that distasteful name since she started living here.”

“Oh…” Soren said. He wasn’t sure what else to say. Or to think, for that matter. He hadn’t even known that Calill and Largo had a daughter, and he hadn’t cared either, yet now Ranulf was implying that she was a branded just like him. He never knew how to feel in these cases, but thankfully Ranulf continued without having to be prompted.

“I met her during the Ashera War, while we were making our way to Sienne,” he explained. “She wasn’t petrified, for whatever reason, so we brought her along with us for her safety. When Calill and Largo eventually died years after the war, she came to live in castle Gallia.” He smiled fondly. “Not even the most prejudiced of us could help loving her, with time. She’s a sweetheart.”

Ranulf’s words made a  familiar sense of coldness settle on Soren’s stomach, and he couldn’t help a scoff from escaping his lips. “So… out of respect for her, you treat me like I exist now?”

 _Because it’s too late,_ he thought. _The damage has been done already._

“It’s not like that,” Ranulf replied. “She just made us realize that we were being hypocrites. We could never forget how we were oppressed in the past, yet we didn’t hold back in the slightest to oppress in the present. She made us realize that we were in the wrong.”

“ _We_?” Soren asked, raising an eyebrow. “You can say ‘they’. You never avoided me, not even once.”

“But I was still part of the problem by letting it all happen, wasn’t I?” Ranulf’s expression softened as he looked down, and Soren knew the name that was going to escape the laguz’s lips before he continued speaking. “Ike would’ve gotten mad at me for continuing to half-ass things like that, don’t you think?”

“Maybe so,” Soren whispered. The mention of Ike made him feel drained, suddenly, so he decided to drop the subject even if he was still unsure on how he felt about it. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh, yeah.” A small pause. “The Greil Mercenaries still exist.”

Soren had to give himself a few moments for the information to settle in his mind. The idea of the Greil Mercenaries continuing on through various generations had occurred to him once or twice before, but he had never entertained the thought for too long. He regretted it a little now, not knowing how to react or answer.

He settled for murmuring “Mist and Boyd’s descendants?”, to which Ranulf nodded.

“Their great-grandchildren. Great-great-grandchildren soon, one has already been born. I visit them from time to time, hire them for some job or another when they have troubles having ends meet.”

“Still short on work?”

“Yes. There was talk of the company name changing to Ike’s Mercenaries shortly after you two left, since it was thought that it would provide a publicity boost, but Mist completely refused.” Ranulf paused and snickered. “I still remember it as if it were yesterday, how Mist yelled at some new recruits: ‘I’m the commander now, aren’t I? We either change it to Mist’s Mercenaries, or we don’t change it at all!’”

Soren snorted. He quickly raised a hand to cover his grin and tried to school his features into a more neutral expression, but it was too late, for Ranulf’s grin only widened. The mage lowered his hand slowly, seeing no point in hiding his mirth, and shook his head incredulously.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Mist’s Mercenaries has quite the ring to it,” he said, which made Ranulf actually laugh out loud.

“Doesn’t it? They never changed it in the end, unfortunately.” He leaned forward on his seat, his body language turning sort of secretive. “Do you want me to tell you where they’re stationed?”

“No,” Soren immediately replied. It surprised him, how sure of it his tone was, but he didn’t have to think hard about why. “I don’t think I’m ready to see his blood. If whoever is leading the company reminds me even remotely of him… I’m afraid I won’t be able to leave.”

Ranulf leaned back with a sympathetic expression, and Soren averted his eyes self-consciously.

“I understand,” the laguz said. “He really wouldn’t have wanted you to do that, would he?”

Soren merely shook his head.

“I have other matters to attend to,” he said quietly. “I am only passing by, for now.”

“He’d be proud of you, you know?” Ranulf said out of nowhere, and Soren blinked up at him.

 _What do you know?_ He thought, but he bit back the words. He may have been the one to spend his whole life with Ike, but he was very well aware of his own short-sightedness. He knew his abysmally low self-esteem had created a warped perspective of things that he still struggled to control, and so, he didn’t object to Ranulf’s words. Maybe Ike would have been proud of him, who was he to contradict that? It’s not like he had ever gotten to comprehend Ike’s affections for him anyway.

“I’m surprised you’re not protesting,” Ranulf commented, to which Soren shrugged. “Alright then, how long are you planning on staying?”

“Only a few days. Less than a week, if possible.”

“Well, you can stay as long as you want to,” Ranulf said, getting up from his seat and stretching his arms above his head. “I think I’m gonna check up on the big guy, unless you have anything else to say.”

“Go ahead.”

Ranulf nodded and padded towards the door. “You can call me if you need anything, I’ll make sure that all your needs are— oh.”

“What?” Soren asked, frowning at Ranulf’s back. The cat turned his head and grinned at him.

“You have a visitor.”

“...come in?” Soren said warily, his suspicion increasing tenfold when a familiar—yet much older than he remembered—figure stepped around Ranulf. “Lethe,” he greeted dryly. “How… unexpected.”

“Play nice, you two!” Ranulf said, clapping Lethe on the back so hard she stumbled into the room. The orange cat glared daggers at Ranulf as he left, and Soren sat very still and very tense on his seat.

“So?” He asked carefully. “To what do I owe the visit?”

“I heard you were in the castle,” she replied, as if that explained it all. She was glaring at her own feet now, more awkward than hostile. She clearly didn’t mean bad, but he hadn’t spoken with her at all after the Mad King’s War, and he had never expected to have to converse with her ever again.   

“And?” He prodded, already losing his patience. Interacting with Skrimir had been as tiring as always, and his conversation with Ranulf had left him weary for other reasons; Gallians exhausted him and he didn’t know for how long he would be able to deal with Lethe.  

“I wanted to apologize.”

“Pardon?” Soren asked, incredulous. When Lethe directed her glare at him, he lifted a placating hand. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“I said I wanted to apologize,” she repeated through gritted teeth. “Mordecai would have too, but he’s away in a mission.”

Soren bit his lower lip, pensive. He studied Lethe’s expression as he searched his memory for instances in which her and her partner may have wronged him. It didn’t take long for a rather unpleasant memory that he had kept buried in the depths of his mind to resurface.

“I can only think of one instance in which we had a confrontation,” he started, speaking slowly and carefully. “If this is about the time we first met, I would expect you to demand an apology from me, not give me one.”

Lethe perked up at that.

“Are you going to apologize?” she asked.

Soren wasn’t going to. He had made a lapse in judgement back then, said things he didn’t mean out of a hatred he did feel. A bitter, dark part of him had wanted to get a rise out of the laguz so they would acknowledge his existence; his more rational side had regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth; his emotional side had faltered as soon as Ike had shielded him from Mordecai’s attack. He wasn’t proud of himself in that moment, but he had apologized to Ike, and he had made amends with the Gallians as a whole four years after that incident. That was enough for him, and it would have to be enough for Lethe—a woman he frankly cared nothing about.

“Are _you_?” he countered.

“I already have!” She hissed, tensing up.

“Then, pray tell, what for?” Soren asked. “Because I genuinely have no clue to what would trigger this apology.”

Lethe sighed through her nose and darted her eyes around the room. Soren followed the tense line of her shoulders with his eyes, taking in a figure that now seemed very small to him. Lethe still kept her hair short and dressed lightly, but her face had hardened with age—not in a way that made her seem awfully old, but in a way that made her seem terribly distant to Soren. He remembered when he still believed himself a beorc and heard the Gallians talk about the fleeting lifespans of beorc, and bit his lip again. He still hadn’t lived enough to get a proper taste of his longevity and so far the people he had met after returning to Tellius had barely changed. Due to the type of laguz blood flowing through their veins, Stefan and Micaiah would last almost as long as he would, especially Micaiah. Skrimir would surely look the same for a long while. But now that he was seeing Ranulf and Lethe, he felt like they had started to slip away from his fingers.

It was a funny thought, because he didn’t care for them, especially not for Lethe. But cats had short lifespans among the laguz, and the lines and dips adorning the corners of Lethe’s eyes and the middle of her brow were suddenly standing out to him in a way that made him uncomfortable. The irrational feeling of wanting the cat to look as young as him again settled on his chest, and he shuffled on his seat, trying to make himself appear shorter. He was sure he would tower over her now, if he were to stand.

“If you hadn't provoked us like that,” Lethe finally began, interrupting his train of thought, “I would've never cast a second glance at you. I knew what you were, even if you looked and spoke like a beorc, and my first instinct when you spoke against us was to want you dead—try to have you dead.” She closed her eyes, her expression remorseful. “You were awful, and I still think you should do your part and apologize. But I… we… had no self-awareness at all, and treated you unjustly. That's why _I_ apologize.”

Soren sighed heavily, deliberate in exaggeration so Lethe would look at him again. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the apology at all, but he could tell what prompted it and why he didn’t like it.

“I take you get along well with Amy?” He asked. Lethe bristled at his words.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Soren sighed again, quieter this time.

“Frankly speaking, you’d be better off saying this kind of thing to someone like Stefan,” he said. “I don’t mind the sentiment behind it, but if you want to make amends I’m hardly the adequate candidate. I doubt I can give you the response you want to get.”

“I don’t need a response,” Lethe clarified. “I wanted to apologize, and I did. I’m fine with never seeing your face again after this.”

Soren snorted and, surprisingly enough, took her words in stride.

“The feeling is mutual,” he assured. “And I honestly hope you’re the last Gallian that comes into my room and tries to make amends with the fact that I’m a branded.”

“Do you hate us?”

“No, I don’t,” he responded easily, a wry smile on his lips. “However, I don’t like you either. The change from being treated as if I didn’t exist to this overt sympathy is jarring and uncomfortable. Skrimir may be an insufferable fool, but I very much prefer to be treated in the way he does.”

“I am _not_ going to treat you with that sort of reverence.”

Soren wanted to argue that reverence was a strong word, and a bit of an exaggeration, but he merely shook his head.

“I don’t expect you to, it’s just the simplicity that is nice. You must understand where I’m coming from, I’m sure.”

“...I do. I’ll leave you be now.”

“Appreciated. Do tell Mordecai that he has nothing to worry about.”

Lethe nodded and left without another word. Only then did Soren allow himself to finally relax, slumping on his seat and throwing an arm over his eyes. Years of dealing with Ike alone had left him untrained for the exhaustion of interacting with the eccentric people he had been forced to deal with during his days as the staff officer for the Greil Mercenaries, and Micaiah and Stefan’s soft understanding of his feelings and boundaries had been pleasant and relaxing. Now he found himself utterly drained, his complicated feelings towards Gallians accentuating the tension he felt while in the castle.

He hadn’t truly needed to step through Gallia to get to Goldoa, but now he was glad he did, for he was sure his time in Goldoa would be much more stressful, and Gallia was good as a stepping stone to prepare him for it. He definitely hadn’t been ready to face what was awaiting him yet, so he commended his own decision to do the hellish trek up to castle Gallia.

Soren let his arm slip away from his face, and looked up at the ceiling. His calves still hurt more than they ever had during the wars, his mind was heavy with the conversations he had just held, and his eyes kept occasionally drooping. A strange certainty that Ike _would_ be proud of him overtook him in the same way that exhaustion had, and so he closed his eyes and let the warmth in his heart flow freely, reaching the corners of his lips and making them settle into a soft smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lethe wasn't supposed to be in this chapter at first, but her and mordecai's first meeting with soren has always felt like a really interesting character moment for them all, and since this is "giving soren closure: the fic" I decided a small scene with her was due. I hope it turned out as well as I wanted it to, and thank you for reading!!
> 
> p.s. go read [my other ikesoren multichapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661048) if you have some time and feel up to it. ike is alive in it, ain't that a catch


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